


Somebody Who Cares That You Get Home Safe

by pukeandcry



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bodyguard, Claustrophobia, Hair-pulling, M/M, Popstar Louis, Size Difference, Spanking, crowds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukeandcry/pseuds/pukeandcry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' bodyguards keep quitting; Niall thinks he knows someone for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody Who Cares That You Get Home Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a present for my Bailey, who had a dumb day and deserves more than the world can give her, including stories about large men carrying Louis Tomlinson places, but at least this is a start. <3
> 
> Some minor warnings for scenes of crowds and claustrophobia.]

“It’s your own fault,” Niall says, which is something he’s been saying an awful lot lately. Louis isn’t sure he cares for it.

“You always say that,” he says, flipping his head over the side of the tour bus sofa. If he’s going to be harassed by his own mates, he might as well be upside down while it happens.

“Because it’s always true,” Niall says, shrugging. It looks strange from this angle.

“I disagree. Nothing is ever my fault.”

Niall snorts. “Aaron _told_ you if you disappeared on him one more time he was quitting. And then you did. How’s that not your fault?”

“I thought he was bluffing!” Louis protests. There’s a lot of blood pooling in his head, but he’s still pretty sure this is everyone’s fault but his own.

“Why?” Niall asks, laughing in a disbelieving sort of way. “Literally everyone else on your security team has quit at least once. Paul’s quit -- what, six times now?”

“Paul isn’t strictly security,” Louis says evasively. He flips his legs over and tumbles off the sofa onto the floor, his ears rushing a bit. He wonders how much longer til they get to -- Bournemouth? Portsmouth? Something-mouth, he doesn’t know. It’s not his job to remember, thank fuck. “Anyway, he’s never quit for longer than an hour.”

“Lucky for your arse,” Niall says. “You’d be the world’s shittest pop star without him keeping you in order. Forget to turn up for your own shows, likely.”

“Excuse me, Niall,” Louis says, feigning affront. Mostly feigning. Niall’s got a bowl of cereal balanced on his knees -- Louis thinks he’ll forgive him if he lets him have the rest of it. “I have never missed a show. I have never been _late_ for a show. And if that’s because I have the foresight to keep people in my employ to ensure that, it just goes to show how responsible I actually _am_.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess,” Niall says. He notices Louis eyeing his cocoa pops, and hands them over with a sigh. “They’re all soggy, y’twat.”

“Niall,” Louis says happily, accepting the mushy leftovers. He’s fucking _ravenous_ , but the kitchen is all the way to the front of the bus. “How much am I paying _you_? Because I’d like to double it right now.”

“Nothing,” Niall grumbles fondly. “I’m here out of the goodness of my heart like a fucking idiot.”

At least he doesn’t shove Louis out from under his arm when he snuggles his way in, chewing noisily in Niall’s ear for the rest of the drive.

-

It turns out they weren’t going to Bournemouth or Portsmouth at all, but Southampton, which Louis realizes when the bus starts to roll to a stop and Zayn’s head pops from the front of the bus to tell him they’re nearly there, and then, when Louis blinks at him, rolls his eyes and says “ _Southampton_ ” in a put-upon way.

Louis can’t help it -- he doesn’t have a head for these sort of details. He’d tried, at the beginning, when he was first amassing enough fans to actually start playing shows, tried to handle it all himself because it seemed like that’s what he was supposed to do. But he hasn’t got the attention span for management, or details, and frankly he’d been busy enough trying not to vom with nerves every time he’d set foot on stage that trying to remember which hotel he’s meant to go to at the end of the night had scarcely registered. It’s a good thing the label had decided he was doing well enough to warrant Paul and the rest of the team they’d put together for him by that point.

That still feels more than a bit unbelievable, even now, halfway through his third tour. He wonders when he’ll finally get used to it all.

Even if Louis hadn’t known where they’d been heading, someone must have, because when he peers out the window he sees there’s already a crowd amassed in front of the hotel. Some of them have signs. Lots of them are screaming. The hotel must not have been anticipating it, because there’s no one keeping them back, no barricades or anything, which means that’s nearly a hundred bodies swarming the entrance that he’s got to get through.

“Shit,” Niall says, watching the crowd with a cautious eye. Louis feels a twinge of anxiety -- he doesn’t particularly like the crowds, but Niall _really_ hates them.

Possibly he shouldn’t have run out on Aaron at the bar last night. He still doesn’t think it’s his _fault_ \-- he’d just wanted to see if he could get out the back without being noticed, and then when he had he’d just wanted to see if there was a McDonald’s down the road, which there _was_ , and there just wasn’t time to tell Aaron. Also, he’d been a little pissed. So. Not his fault.

Still, he could really use a nearly seven-foot human wall right about now.

Maybe it’s a little his fault.

For the moment it doesn’t matter, though, because as soon as Louis’ gathered up his overnight bag Paul’s knocking on the door of the bus, gesturing him, Niall, and Zayn off. The crowd is already swarming behind him, and he’s got an arm out keeping them at bay.

Paul’s cleared a space about two body widths in area, which is hardly enough, but Louis slings an arm over Niall and lets Zayn crowd close behind him, trying to stay near Paul as they start to shove through the bodies towards the entrance.

There’s too much going on to focus on any single part of it. A marker thwacks him in the side of the face, and it doesn’t hurt, but it startles him. Someone’s hand is stretched out in front of him, palm up, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it so he just shakes it awkwardly, and moves on. There are always more hands, and more screaming people -- mostly girls, but not exclusively -- and things to sign and phones thrust at him and he loves it, he _does_ , he loves that anyone cares about him enough to camp out and wait for a three-second glimpse of him, but it’s just.

It’s a lot, the noisy wall of fans closing in around them. Someone has the corner of Louis’ sleeve in their grasp, and they yank him backwards, sending him off his balance. He shoves Niall ahead, hoping he can trail directly behind Paul, and rights himself as Zayn pressed a hand to the small of his back to keep him toppling over.

Somehow, they make it to the front of the hotel, and through the door. One girl tries to slip in behind them, but the manager shoos her away, and shuts the door firmly behind her. The din of screams quiets a bit when he does, but not all the way.

When they’re safely in Louis’ suite, Harry and Liam having beaten them there and already sprawled on the beds, Louis finally exhales.

“You alright?” he asks Niall, who looks a little pale, but nothing bad.

“Fine,” Niall says, but then he frowns. “Lou, Christ.”

“What?” he asks, but then Harry leans forward from where he’s sprawled and prods delicately at Louis’ jaw with a finger.

“Someone scratched you,” he says. “Right here.”

Louis reaches a hand up, and sure enough, feels a raised mark just down his chin and onto his throat. Jesus, he hadn’t even felt that happen.

“Alright,” he says, laughing shakily. “So I think I need to hire a new security bloke, then.”

Nobody else laughs until he hits Liam across the face with a pillow, breaking the tension well enough that the topic is dropped.

-

“I’ve got an idea,” Niall tells him the next day. There’s an interview to do before the show, so they’re shuttered in the backstage area of the night’s venue. Harry’s got Louis’ phone, ostensibly doing his job, but Louis isn’t sure; his official title is _social media manager_ , but he mostly spends his time using Louis’ phone to text Liam when he’s off doing sound tech-y things out of sight. Louis likes to make a lot of noise about how he’s not paying the two of them to be disgusting, but secretly, he likes it. Especially when Liam goes all stuttery and red about it. Anyway, if any two weirdos on Earth truly deserve each other, it’s Liam and Harry.

“An idea for what?” Louis asks, trying to sit still while Zayn fiddles with his hair. He’s not even sure why Zayn does this; he’s Paul’s assistant, not Lou and Caroline’s, but he’s also made it clear he has particularly strong opinions on Louis “look,” whatever that is, so everyone humors him when he swoops in to frown at Louis and adjust his hair.

“Someone for you to hire as a bodyguard,” Niall says, throwing a grape at him. Zayn catches it, somehow, and chucks it back.

“Don’t say ‘bodyguard,’ Niall, that makes me sound like Whitney Houston,” Louis says.

“Fine, ‘security technician’ or whatever the fuck. But I’ve got a mate from back home, and I think he’d be good.”

“You have a bodyguard friend?” Louis asks. “Why haven’t I heard about him?”

“He’s not _really_ a bodyguard. He just finished at uni.”

Louis cocks his head. “So why would he want to come work for me?”

Niall shrugs. “Dunno. He might not, really, but he hasn’t got anything lined up, and also, he’s big as a fuckin’ house, so.”

Louis hmms thoughtfully. He gets distracted by Harry cooing at his phone, though, and scowls. There’d better not be any dirty texts on it when he finally gets it back.

“He could start straight away, and you know you need someone,” Niall says reasonably.

Zayn makes a face. “You better warn him about Tommo if you still want to be friends with him once this is all done, mate,” he says. “Like, how many security blokes have you gone through in the last year?”

 _Eight_ , Louis thinks before shrugging. “I dunno.”

“Eight,” Harry calls unhelpfully. “Nine if you count the one who never even showed up once he looked you up on the Internet.”

“Eight, then,” Louis says sulkily. “Fine, tell your mate to come out, but it’s not my fault if he’s useless.”

“Right,” Niall says, rolling his eyes. “Nothing ever is.”

“Exactly,” Louis says, beaming at him.

-

He forgets about it, then, until four days later when there’s a knock on the door of his hotel suite. There’s about a hundred people in there, anyway, Paul and three more tour planners, and Lou and Caroline, and the rest of the lads, plus a few of the band, so he lets someone else get it, too focused on the game of FIFA he’s currently annihilating Liam at.

He looks up when Niall lets out a pleased shout from the entryway, though, and when he does, he sees him practically hanging off the neck of an enormous bloke with a _very_ nice face.

“Get in here, Bres,” Niall’s saying, tugging him along. “Louis, pause it,” he says, kicking out at the Xbox that’s propped in front of the television. “This is Bressie, the one I was telling you about!”

“What?” Louis asks. Niall’s saying that like it’s supposed to mean something to him, but it’s not sounding familiar at all. “I mean, hi, sorry, but. What?”

Niall rolls his eyes exaggeratedly at him. “To do security,” he says, which, _oh_. That makes sense. Jesus, this Bressie bloke is _huge_.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bressie says formally, offering out a hand to shake. Louis represses a laugh, because he can’t remember the last time anyone had tried to shake his hand like this, but he takes it. Bressie’s hand positively dwarves his own, which is… interesting.

“Same,” Louis says, dropping his hand and picking up the Xbox controller before the flush he can feel creeping up the back of his neck can take hold. “Did Niall warn you, though?”

Bressie smiles nervously. “Um. He said that you’ve had a couple people quit recently, yeah? I’m sure it was--”

“Totally warranted,” Louis admits, waving a hand. Better for Bressie to know now, anyway. “Want to play?” He kicks Liam in the ankle, hoping he’ll get the hint and hand over his controller, but Bressie shakes his head.

“Thanks, but Paul’s going to get me situated, I think,” he says. “Another time though, yeah?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis says. Niall and Bressie wander off together, and Louis must watch them too long as they go, because when he turns back, Liam is giving him a _look_.

“What?” he asks defensively, and then scores a goal while Liam’s distracted.

-

Bressie mostly trails them around for the rest of the day, from soundcheck to meeting some fans outside the venue and then back in to wait for the show. He nods very seriously to everything Paul says, looking everything over with a calculating, focused expression. Louis suspects he’s going to be one of the sorts that take it _so_ bloody seriously, and those are always the ones who last the shortest time. He’s almost sympathetic, because Phillip and Marcus and all the other ones _had_ just wanted to do their job well, but it’s hard for Louis to take any of it as seriously as they all did. He might have songs on the radio, but he’s not the bloody Prince or anything.

It’s a shame, really, because Bressie has a nice sort of face to look at, and he does have a nice laugh when he’s not furrowing his brow and examining the timetables Paul’s given him. Him and Niall are apparently both from Mullingar, and have known each other for ages, and Louis is thinking about making a scene over the fact that Niall’s never introduced them before, because Bressie has _very_ large biceps, but before he can decide if that counts as inappropriate since now he’s technically Bressie’s employer, he gets distracted by Harry starting a food fight with him.

A bit before the show, Niall shoos them off to one of the back storage rooms, telling them they should get to know each other a bit. Louis assumes Niall will come with, but then he flits off at the last moment, leaving him and Bressie alone in a room full of folding chairs and spare cable.

“Hi,” Louis says, shifting his weight a bit before he hops up on a counter on one of the walls. “So you’re my new hired muscle, then?”

Bressie smiles, and looks a bit apologetic, for some reason. He pulls out one of the folding chairs and sits. “Would seem so. Thanks for having me.” He sits on one of the flimsy folding chairs and looks inordinately huge in it. “Should tell you right off the bat that I know fuck all about being security, though.”

Louis snorts. “‘S’alright. Not much to know. Mostly you’re just here to be large and intimidating, occasionally act as a human shield. Take a bullet for me if it comes to it, y’know.”

Bressie raises his eyebrows.

“That was a joke,” Louis says. “No one has ever tried to shoot at me. I promise.”

“Should fuckin’ hope not,” Bressie says, looking put out at the very idea.

Louis looks at him curiously.

“So you and Niall grew up together?” he asks.

“Yeah, for a bit. Knew his brother pretty well. And his dad.”

“Bobby Horan, saint among men,” Louis says, and means it. If he were trying to cast the role of father of the year in a film, Bobby Horan would be the only person he’d think of.

“Isn’t he?” Bressie agrees. “Still get a pint with him every week or so.”

“Good,” Louis says. “Someone ought to be taking care of him when I steal Niall away.”

Bressie nods. “‘S’nice of you, by the way. To bring Niall along. He misses you when you’re away, I think.”

Louis shrugs. “He’s the one doing me a favor, mate. Touring gets exhausting. I’d be mad by now if I could drag him along sometimes.”

“Hm,” Bressie says, like that’s not the answer he’d expected. “Still.”

Louis shifts uncomfortably. “Anyway. He said you were in uni, yeah?”

Bressie nods. “Did a course in sport therapy. I’d actually been running pub for a while, one of the locals when the owner couldn’t keep up with it, but I always wanted to go back and get a degree, and finally got my arse around to it. Finished last month.”

“So what’re you going to do with it?” Louis asks.

Bressie smiles and shrugs. “Dunno. That’s why I’m here, I suppose.”

Louis nods. He wonders if this is enough getting to know each other. Surely he should be doing something, getting shoved into his outfit for the night at least.

“Fancy walking back?” he asks, nodding towards the door. “I’m sure there’s something I’m meant to do before it starts.”

Bressie nods, and Louis opens the door for them.

“You don’t have to stick around for the show,” he says as they walk back to where the rest of the crew is milling around. “Niall usually doesn’t, even, so you could head back to the hotel with him.”

Bressie scoffs. “My niece’d have my head if I missed a Louis Tomlinson concert, I’ll have you know. She’s got a poster of you over her bed.”

Louis snorts.

“Anyway, Paul says you run off after the show sometimes, and I’m meant to stop you from going AWOL.”

Louis wants to protest, but then he thinks about the time he crawled up some scaffolding right after encore and hid there long enough to evade Terry the bodyguard before slipping out the back to smoke on the roof with Zayn, so maybe he doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on.

“Yeah?” he says, trying to sound something between teasing and sly. “You think you’re up for the task?”

“Pretty sure I can outrun you, Tomlinson,” Bressie says, eyeing him with a smirk. “But go ahead and try to make a break for it and we’ll see.”

For a moment he’s tempted to say something sleazy and awful, like _and what’ll you do when you catch me?_ , only his tongue suddenly seems to be sticking to the roof of his mouth. Bressie really is big. He could probably hold Louis still with one arm, no problem. The thought makes his brain go a bit fuzzy.

He shakes his head a tiny bit. “You think so?” he asks, and then without warning, takes off sprinting down the corridor. Bressie laughs and chases after him, but Louis doesn’t stop until his heartbeat is echoing in his ears, eventually finding Niall and dodging behind him, shouting “sanctuary!” and using him as a shield.

When he does finally go on stage, he’s a bit sweaty, and when he glances off into the wings halfway through and sees Bressie watching, arms folded over his enormous chest, he feels something flip excitedly in his stomach.

-

The bus pulls right up to the back of the venue after the show, because apparently it’s _not_ a hotel night like Louis’d thought after all, and they’re on the road again. The rest of the lads have already piled onto one, and Bressie walks him over to it even though there are no crowds in the barricaded car park for all the tour equipment.

“This is what you need a bodyguard for?” Bressie asks him skeptically, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth as he holds open the bus door for Louis.

Louis laughs, but shakes his head. “Pretty sure there’s a meet and greet tomorrow, mate,” he says, almost apologetically.

“Should that scare me?” Bressie asks, standing back. Louis squeezes past him, but can’t help but brush up against his chest, which, Jesus, is solid.

“If you had any sense, you’d be terrified,” Louis says very seriously. “A girl fainted once. And then after that, another girl did too, only she was pretending and crawled under the table.”

“You’re lying,” Bressie laughs, and Louis wishes he was.

“Are you riding on the other bus?” he asks. Bressie’s still got an arm holding the door open, and Louis thinks he could fit underneath it if he wanted. Not that he wants.

“Yeah,” Bressie says. “Niall said he’d join me.”

“Good, take him,” Louis says, peering his head inside. “He kept me up last night looking for a meteor shower that never happened.”

Bressie smiles, but this time it looks a bit uncomfortable. “You two, ah -- you’re sweet,” he says after a moment.

Louis makes a face. “I guess? I mean -- what?”

“Together,” Bressie says, shrugging. “Like…”

But whatever he’s going to say gets cut off by Niall barreling off the bus and down the stairs, knocking them both out of the way.

“C’mon, Bres, there’s pizza on the other bus and I’m fuckin’ starved,” he says. He smacks a messy kiss on Louis’ cheek and shoots off across the car park. “I’m not saving you any!” he shouts.

“Well,” Bressie says, suddenly looking like he might blush for some reason. “Goodnight, Louis. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding at Bressie as he goes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Tomorrow.”

It’s not until he gets on the bus and shoves Harry over to make room for him on the sofa that he realizes what Bressie’d been hinting around, and when he does, he howls and rolls dramatically to the ground, knocking over a bowl of crisps.

“He thinks I’m shagging Niall!” Louis cries, pressing one hand dramatically over his chest.

Harry peers down at him, smiling his frog smile. “Are you not?”

Louis pulls him to floor and stuffs a handful of crumbs down the collar of his shirt in outrage.

-

“Tell Bressie I’ve never touched your dick,” Louis tells Niall over breakfast the next day. “He thinks we’re fucking or something.”

“But Louis,” Niall says, “I can’t deny our love. Think of the baby!” He pressed a hand to his abdomen, and Harry laughs, and Louis has to kick them all in the shins to get them to stop.

Niall must pass it on, though, because Bressie doesn’t mention it again, and Louis tries very hard not to think about why he didn’t want Bressie to think he was seeing anyone in the first place.

-

Bressie trails behind him on the way to the meet and greet the next day, two steps back and slightly to the right. Louis doesn’t know where all security picks up on that, especially since Bressie isn’t exactly a professional, but they all fall back there. It makes Louis want to dart off even worse, just on principle.

Bressie does alright, but he blanches when he sees the crowd. Louis isn’t sure what he’d been expecting -- twenty or thirty calm girls instead of hundreds that are screaming and wearing shirts with Louis’ face on them, maybe.

When the first girl bursts into tears as Louis signs her CD case, Bressie flaps around, looking for a tissue or a water bottle or something. Louis lets him, just pats the girl’s hand and asks if she’s alright before she nods and manages to move on. She looks a bit like Fizzy, and Louis smiles at her as she goes.

It takes them several hours to get through them all, and then Paul says they’ve got to pack it in. Bressie immediately stands to attention, positioning himself between Louis and the crowd that hasn’t dispersed, keeping himself between them the entire way out to the carpark and into the van that will take them back to the hotel.

“Christ,” he says once the door’s shut. “That was more than I expected.”

He looks a bit green around the gills, and Louis finds himself tempted to reach over and pat his knee reassuringly. Only then he accidentally starts thinking about his hand on Bressie’s knee, and also his thigh, which is very, _very_ thick, and then he has to stop.

“Was relatively tame, honestly,” Louis says with a shrug. No one tried to knock over the table or asked for a lock of his hair; those have both happened more than once.

Bressie exhales heavily, and leans his head against the window.

-

Zayn had said -- loudly and several times -- that there’s no chance in hell that Bressie’d last a week, since no one with any sense would be able to put up with Louis for that long, so it’s deeply satisfying to hit the second week of having Bressie around with no signs of him clearing off.

He does shout at Louis a little once, when he and Zayn dodge out of a radio interview to press buttons on a complicated-looking machine (and for someone with so much to say about how impossible Louis is to work with, Zayn is involved in an _awful_ lot of the things that get him shouted at). But when Louis braces himself for Bressie to throw up his hands and quit, he just shakes his head and promises that he’s just going to have to watch him even closer from now on.

Louis means to say something smart in reply, but suddenly finds that his knees have gone a little shaky.

It’s just that Bressie is so big, and his face really is nice, and he’s leaned down to look Louis right in the eye and tell him he’ll be _watching_.

It’s not Louis’ fault he has to adjust his dick a bit when he walks away.

-

The first really, really awful crowd is outside of a pub. Several of the crew and the band had gone out after a show, and Louis had thought they’d escaped mostly unnoticed, but someone must’ve tweeted their location, because when they’re readying to leave, Louis notices that the sidewalk out front is packed.

“No back door,” Paul informs him, and Louis nods his head slowly. It’s alright. He might be fairly pissed, but he can get through a crowd. Once he goes, anyway, they’ll probably follow him, and the rest can leave easily, so it’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Plus Bressie is at his elbow, suddenly, and that makes him feel a bit better.

“Ready to run the gauntlet?” Louis asks, enunciating his words carefully, trying to sound sober and capable. Except then, without meaning to, he adds “You’re so _tall_ ,” which might spoil the effect a bit.

Bressie huffs a laugh, but he still looks nervous. He hasn’t drank much; he’s probably a lot more sober than Louis.

“I am,” he agrees. “Paul says the car is a block away but couldn’t get any closer. Ready?”

Louis shrugs, and then they push through the door.

Outside, it’s a mix of paps and fans, and they all have cameras that are flashing bright as anything in Louis’ eyes, nearly blinding him. He reaches back reflexively and finds Bressie’s arm, which he keeps a hold on, because Jesus, there are _so_ many people, and none of them are giving him room to breath.

“Move, c’mon, clear out,” he hears Bressie instructing, moving around in front of him to act as a sort of human bulldozer. Louis tries to smile and wave at the fans, but the paps are shoving in harder, and they’re shouting some of the same shit they always shout, and it’s all hard to keep track of with as much beer in his system as there is. A disembodied hand nearly yanks his beanie off his head, and he almost twists an ankle trying to dodge someone. It’s a madhouse. He does his best to curl up behind Bressie and shuffle forward, trying to break out of the crowd eventually.

They don’t manage, the crowd moving with them, but they finally get to the car and Bressie holds off the tide of people pressing against him with one arm while Louis climbs in. He yanks Bressie after him, and then the door is shut and they’re slowly inching away down the street.

When Louis looks up, Bressie looks stricken.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks. Bressie is breathing in deep, gripping his knees anxiously.

“Fine,” Bressie grits out. “Just -- didn’t expect it.”

“It’s not always like that,” Louis says, feeling the need to apologize for some reason.

“Just… sometimes,” Bressie wheezes out. “I get panicky sometimes. With, like, crowds. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

“Bres!” Louis squawks. “Why wouldn’t you tell me, idiot? Wouldn’t have made you go through that, otherwise!”

Bressie tilts his head, and smiles at Louis at the same time as he frowns. “Doesn’t happen much. Just wasn’t ready, and it’s worse when I’ve been drinking. Didn’t want to get sacked, either.”

He takes several deep breaths, and Louis only hesitates for a moment before he rubs him soothingly on the back. He’s not sure if that’s the right move, but that’s what Niall likes when he gets claustrophobic. Bressie seems to relax an inch under his hand, anyway.

“Not gonna _sack_ you, stupid,” Louis says, feeling like his head is swimming a bit.

“Why not?” Bressie asks. “Who ever heard of a bodyguard who panics in a crowd?”

“Literally anyone would freak out at that the first time they go through it,” Louis says placatingly. “Niall vommed the first time. And anyway, in case you didn’t notice, most typical bodyguards can’t stand me. So it’s probably alright you’re a little different.”

“Yeah?” Bressie asks. His breathing is returning to normal. Louis’ head is still swimming, and he feels suddenly warm.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

-

Two days later, Louis finds a back gate at a venue that isn’t locked, and he thinks he could probably squeeze his way through it if he angles his bum right. The hoard of fans are way around front, and if he’s careful, he could probably get his skateboard up one of the hills without any spotting him.

Except then he thinks about Bressie, pale and sweating in the back of a van when he’d had to walk Louis through the crowd, and how he would have to come looking for him, and the face he might make, disappointed and a bit panicked.

Louis scowls at the gate and walks back to the bus. Harry and Liam are there, tangled around each other like a bizarre octopus, and Louis pries them apart and sits directly between them, poking them both until they amuse him.

-

“I have to fire Bressie,” Louis tells Niall two nights later. Niall’s got a guitar, and Louis and Zayn have a spliff. Bressie’s out on a run, and Harry and Liam are banished because they can’t keep their hands out of each others’ trousers.

“What?” Niall asks, looking disbelieving. “Why? He’s been brilliant _and_ he can put up with you. If anything, you should give him a fucking raise.”

Louis sighs. “I have to fire him ecause I want to shag him and I don’t want to be a sexual harasser,” he says mournfully. He gives the spliff back to Zayn and thunks his head against the cushion several times.

“Oh,” Niall says, sounding placated. “Is that all? So shag him, then.”

“‘Is that _all_ ,’ he says,” Louis asks, throwing his hands up. “I’m trying to be a _responsible employer_ , Niall. Don’t encourage me.”

“Please don’t encourage him,” Zayn echoes.

“But that’s stupid. You want to shag him, and you’re just his type. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is I sign his checks,” Louis says, hoping for sympathy.

“Pretty sure that’s Paul,” Niall says. “So as long as you don’t invite him in on the action, you’re alright.”

“Please don’t,” Zayn repeats. “I like Bres. I don’t want to have to replace him when Louis accosts him.”

“I’m not going to _do_ anything,” Louis says sulkily. “I just wanted _sympathy_.”

“Your poor dick,” Niall laments, and even though Louis knows it’s sarcastic, he’ll take it.

“Thank you,” he says. He’s not going to fire Bressie, _or_ shag him, because he’s a good person.

He’ll just wank himself into oblivion like any other adult who wants to fuck his bodyguard.

-

Bressie finds him holding a filched master set of keys to the venue, and Louis instinctively holds up his hands like he’s being put under arrest.

“Paul said I could have them,” he says immediately. “I found them. I don’t know how they got here?”

“Lou,” Bressie says despairingly, shaking his head. “Pick _one_ lie, and stick with that one.”

“I have never lied once in my entire life,” Louis lies.

“What were you even going to do with those?” Bressie asks, looking amused. “Besides disappear and give me a headache, I mean.”

Louis wants to defend himself by saying that he’s actually skipped out on no less than _three_ opportunities for disappearing and mayhem in the last week just to spare Bressie a headache, but he’s not sure that makes exactly the point he wants it to.

“I’m going up to the roof,” he says, trying to sound firm. “And you’re coming with me so you can relax and see I won’t _actually_ die if I’m out of your sight.”

“I am, huh?” Bressie asks, folding his arms over his chest with an amused expression.

“You are,” Louis says firmly, and then turns to open the door he’s pretty sure -- through elaborate trial and error -- will get him up to the roof.

As he’s climbing the stairs, he hears Bressie’s heavy tread start up behind him, and smiles to himself before he can help it.

The stairs are basically endless, and he’s a bit out of breath by the time they reach the top door marked ROOF. As he nudges it open with his hip, Louis wonders idly if he might be able to get Bres to carry him on the way back down. Maybe fake an ankle injury.

He’ll think it over.

-

He shouldn’t have run off. He definitely shouldn’t have run off, because suddenly he’s gone through a door at the venue where thousands of people are trying to stream out, and he’d only been trying to find the bleeding _toilet_ and now suddenly he’s in the middle of a river of bodies moving towards the exits after his show and the _fucking door he’s come through has locked behind him_ , and no one’s noticed him yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

He ducks behind a column, pulse erratic, and pats his pocket. Thank fuck, he’s got his phone.

“Shit, Bressie,” he whispers into his phone when he answers. “Okay, yell at me later, but I need help.”

“Where are you,” Bressie just asks flatly.

He glances around as best he can without attracting attention, finds a sign with a section number and whispering it down the line to Bressie, who just grunts as tell him to _stay put, idiot_.

He does stay put, but it’s not long before one of the fans glances too long at him, and then she glances back, and when she points, Louis know’s he’s fucked.

The whole movement of the crowd shifts in seconds, reorienting itself towards Louis as he tries to back away from the screams that are starting.

Bresse can’t take more than a few minutes to arrive, but by the time Louis sees his frame shuffling through the crowd he’s completely swarmed. Girls are crying on him, shoving phones in his face, and he’s backed completely against a wall and starting to panic. Worst of all, someone’s dad -- he _assumes_ it’s someone’s dad, at least -- has decided that Louis needs to be taking a picture with his daughter _right this instant_ , and he’s grabbed Louis around the wrist and is trying to bodily yank him towards her.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Bressie shouts, shoving the man off bodily. “Back off, arsehole.”

The man goes easily, and Louis glances at his wrist where the man had gotten hold of him. The skin looks angry; he wonders, dazedly, if he’s going to bruise.

“Are you alright?” Bressie shouts at him as he starts to shepherd them through the crowd. Off to the right, there’s another stage door, and Paul is waiting for them there. Louis’ head is spinning and he’s not sure if he can get there, but Bressie supports him, practically carrying him the last few steps.

“I’m fine,” Louis says weakly once the door clangs shut behind him. His head is spinning; his wrist hurts.

-

Bressie won’t leave his side for a moment, not as they get in the van and not as they come in the back of the hotel, not even as he unlocks Louis’ room with the key Paul had given him. He follows inside, and does up every lock on the door before leading Louis carefully over to sit on the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice rough. “Did -- I mean, did he hurt you?”

“No,” Louis says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -- I was honestly just trying to find a toilet. Mostly.”

Bressie sighs, and puts his face in his hands.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks tentatively.

“I’m angry with you,” Bressie says, sounding more distraught than anything. “Because you shouldn’t run off and you should _know_ better, and _Jesus_ , why do you have to be such a terror all the time?”

Louis opens his mouth to defend himself, but horribly, all he can think to say is _I’m sorry_.

“But,” Bressie continues, lifting his head and leaning in a bit closer. “I’m also so _fucking_ angry that that happens to you. What right do they have? To -- to touch you like that, to just _grab_ at you like you’re a piece of meat and not a _human_? It’s -- it’s awful, and I know it’s because they love you or whatever, but it doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t… no one should get to touch you like that.”

Louis’ breath is catching strangely in his chest. “They shouldn’t?” he asks dazedly.

“Jesus, no,” Bressie says, grasping Louis lightly by the wrist. It’s still all red from where the bloke had grabbed him, and Bressie runs his thumb over it softly. He frowns at it, and then looks up at Louis.

“How,” Louis starts, voice coming out all scratchy. “How _should_ someone touch me, then?”

Bressie looks at him for a long moment, his expression making Louis shiver.

“Like you deserve,” Bressie finally says, softly.

Louis swallows heavily. “Show me?” he asks.

“Lou,” Bressie says seriously. “You can’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

Louis reaches forward, sets his hand on Bressie’s thigh. He feels solid and safe and thrilling all at once. “I mean it,” he says.

There’s a long pause, and Louis can swear he can hear his heartbeat rattling in his ears, but then Bressie takes both his wrists in his enormous hands, holding them very still in Louis’ lap, and leans in.

“Gonna kiss you,” he warns. Louis doesn’t bother answering; he closes the distance, pressing his lips against Bressie’s.

As soon as he does, Bressie moans, letting go of one of Louis’ wrists to bring his palm up to cradle his jaw. Louis feels dwarfed under his touch, small and fragile, and frantic for more.

“Lou,” Bressie moans into his mouth. “Fuck, do you know what you do to me?”

“Drive you mad, probably,” Louis gasps, biting softly at Bressie’s lip. “Gonna have to do something about that, aren’t you?”

Bressie pushes him gently down against the bed in answer.

“You have to tell me this is okay,” he says as he looms over Louis. Louis doesn’t know _what_ it makes him feel -- safe, or thrilled, or something in between.

“ _Please_ ,” Louis begs, and as a rule he tries not to beg, but fuck it. He’s willing to break his rules for Bressie, apparently.

“Anything you need,” Bressie promises, leaning down to kiss his throat. “Anything.”

Everywhere he touches Louis feels like he’s on fire; Bressie’s hands are big and warm where they work under the hem of his shirt or tangle in his hair. He doesn’t pull, just rests it there reassuringly. Louis almost wishes he would pull.

“You can…” he starts, unsure how to say. Bressie’s mouthing against his neck, and Louis can’t sort his words out right. “You don’t have to be, like. Gentle. I can take it.”

Bressie leans back, then, kneeling beside Louis to peer at him curiously.

“What--” he starts, but Louis shakes his head.

“If you want to pull my hair, I mean,” he says shakily. “I -- I like that.”

“Lou,” Bressie says, frowning. “I don’t want to _hurt_ you. I’m, like -- that’s what I’m supposed to _stop_ people doing.”

He runs his thumb down Louis’ jaw, then, like he’s something precious, and Louis’ heart stutters.

“But…” Louis says, hoping to explain properly. “I know that.” He wriggles in closer, his hips coming off the bed a little. “I trust you. And I _like_ it. I want you to. ‘Cos I trust you, yeah?”

Bressie doesn’t look convinced, but he tightens the hand he’s got in Louis’ hair just a bit, tentatively.

Louis can’t help it; even that makes him moan, his cock twitch.

“Oh,” Bressie breathes out. “You do like it.”

“I said,” Louis says.

“I’m not sure -- I don’t know what to do,” Bressie admits. His hand doesn’t loosen, though.

“Just touch me,” Louis says pleadingly. “However you want.”

Bressie considers, and then pulls back just a bit -- just enough to carefully work Louis’ shirt up over his head.

“Jesus,” Bressie murmurs, staring down at Louis once he’s settled on the bed again. “Lou, you are _so_ —”

“You,” Louis says nonsensically. “You are.”

Bressie’s still careful with him, but a bit less so. He kisses Louis carefully, keeping their hips from touching for a while, but eventually he gives it up. When he leans flush against Louis he positively _whimpers_ , feeling completely enveloped in Bressie. He smells warm and musky, and his chest is so solid it makes Louis almost dizzy, and he feels so safe underneath him that he never wants to come out.

And he can feel his cock, as well. Bressie’s hard, and he’s flush against his hip, and Louis has worked very, very hard not to think about how well-endowed Bressie probably is until right now, but it’s hard when it’s pressed up against him, inches from his own dick.

“Lou,” Bressie whispers in his ear, mouth warm. “Tell me how much you want.”

“I want you,” Louis breathes out. “All of you, fuck, what you to hold me down and fuck me, Jesus, c’mon.” He’s frantic, and maybe that’s too much, but he’s positively dizzy with Bressie around him, and he can’t think of any reason not to ask for it when that’s what he wants so bad he’s almost faint with it.

Bressie holds very still, like he’s trying to take in Louis’ words, but then he jolts into action. He works Louis’ jeans down, struggling to get them over his feet, and then his black briefs, and Louis knows he’s naked and Bressie is still fully dressed but he doesn’t care because Bressie’s rolling him onto his stomach, running his hands reverently over his back and down to his arse, one hand on each cheek.

“You are _so_ fucking gorgeous,” Bressie says. His fingers bite down a bit, and Louis hisses in pleasure, grinding his hips against the bed. “D’you know how perfect you are?”

“You -- you just said yesterday I drive you mad,” Louis manages to gasp out. Fuck, he’s hard. He doesn’t want to come just rutting against the sheets, but something about Bressie just sitting there, watching him, digging his nails into his skin is sending him right up to the edge.

“Did I?” Bressie murmurs. One of his hand moves, relaxes a bit and goes flat, petting almost experimentally at Louis’ arse.

Louis tenses, because -- because maybe, _maybe_.

“You can,” he groans. “Please, Brez, c’mon.”

“You have to say it,” Bressie repeats, his hand coming back just a fraction of an inch before setting back down gently.

“ _Spank_ me,” Louis says, almost hysterically. “Please, c’mon, I need it, I need _you_.”

“Okay, pet,” Bressie murmurs. He leans down and presses a kiss at the very base of Louis’ spine, right where the curve of his arse starts, and Louis whimpers.

Then Bressie sits back, and after a long moment, his hand withdraws. The next instant, he brings it down on Louis’ arse.

It’s barely even a tap, really, tentative and unsure, but it shoots through Louis like a spark. “Fuck, yes, _again_ ,” he demands.

“You’re bossy,” Bressie says. His hand connects, harder this time, and Louis moans.

“Better -- better teach me a lesson,” Louis gasp.

Bressie’s hand comes down on his other cheek unexpectedly, then, hard enough that the crack almost seems to echo, and Louis forgets anything else smart he might’ve said.

Bressie’s still tentative, but his hand is firm, moving around Louis’ arse, smoothing over it gently after every few swats, praising him, telling him he’s so beautiful, that he’s taking it so well. There’s sweat pinpricking at Louis’ hairline, and he can’t remember words when Bressie grabs him by the hip and rearranges him on his hands and knees.

“Stay there,” he tells Louis, and his cock jumps against his stomach. He does what Bressie says, and stays.

Bressie tosses his t-shirt over his head, and then his jeans until he’s just in his boxers, and then he sits back on the bed on his heels and leverages Louis by the hips until he’s draped over his knees, _fuck_.

“How many more do think,” Bressie asks quietly.

Louis can’t remember numbers. “Five?” he guesses. That’s probably a number. It’s hard to tell with his cock rubbing against the thick weight of Bressie’s thighs.

“Alright,” Bressie says. “Five.” Before he starts, though, he leans down close and whispers “okay?” in Louis’ ear.

“If you stop I’ll scream,” he promises.

“Alright,” Bressie says. “Count.”

He counts, then, counting off the weight of Bressie’s hand coming down on his arse. He can do this, he tells himself -- he can make it through five without shooting off on Bressie’s thighs. Probably.

After the fifth he lets out a noise like a sob, and then Bressie is placing him gently back on the bed again, running his hands over his red, warm arse.

“Shh, love, you’re alright. I’ve got you,” he promises, kissing the red skin of Louis’ cheeks. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me,” Louis groans into the duvet. “Please, Bres, I swear, I need…”

“If that’s what you want,” Bressie says softly. If Louis could sort his words out better he’d scoff at the idea that he’d never want Bressie, but as it is, he just turns over for him, bringing one hand up to squeeze his cock at the base. He’s so hard he’s not sure how he’ll make it through being opened up without coming, but he’s determined to try.

“Want you,” he whimpers, probably a bit redundantly. He doesn’t care.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bressie promises, leaning down to kiss him, soft and dirty all at once.

Louis points vaguely towards his luggage when Bressie sits back, and he trudges off to find the condoms and slick in the bottom of Louis’ toiletries bag.

When he finds them, he knees astride Louis on the bed, enormous and solid and Louis can _see_ his hard cock through his pants, and Jesus, he’s going to be big, he can already tell. The biggest Louis’ ever’s taken, probably.

“I know you said I don’t have to be gentle, but m’gonna anyway,” Bressie says determinedly.

“Alright,” Louis says. He doesn’t particularly care right now.

A moment later, he feels Bressie’s thick finger trail down the hinge of his hip, tracing behind his balls and resting gently over his hole.

“Do it,” he begs hoarsely, and then Bressie does.

His fingers are so thick that it takes a moment to acclimate to even that. It burns, but in the best way, even more when Bressie slides another in after several long moments, and then starts to scissor them, so slowly it feels like Louis’ going to fall apart.

“More,” he asks deliriously.

“Slow, pet,” Bressie says, but after a moment a third presses in, and Louis’ eyes roll back in his head.

He’s not sure how long Bressie fingers him, only that eventually it stops burning, transitioning into a wonderful stretch just this side of too much.

As soon as he thinks he can manage it, Louis tries to knock his hand away. “Do it,” he says. “Inside me.”

“Louis,” Bressie says softly, but Louis shakes his head.

“Don’t wanna come til you’re in me,” he says as firmly as he can.

Bressie inhales heavily, his broad chest rising and falling, but he nods, and then with careful hands peels his pants down.

Jesus, he’s hung. Louis suspected, but there’s a difference between suspecting and seeing the proof in front of him. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to take all of it, but he’s damned well determined to try.

“Fuck, get this on,” Louis says frantically, casting around for the condom and tossing it at Bressie. It bounces off his forehead, and Bressie’s face splits into a grin as he retrieves it and rolls it on.

“You’re something else,” he tells Louis as he positions himself between his legs, leaning in to kiss him. When he does, it’s sweet.

“I know,” Louis says. “Fuck me already.”

Bressie steadies his cock with a hand, just snubbing it against his hole for a moment, and then on a long breath, starts to press in, as slowly as he can.

For a moment, Louis thinks it’s not going to happen -- he’s still tight, and Bressie’s enormous, but _fuck_ , Louis is determined. He pauses Bressie with a hand to his hip for a moment once the head of his cock is in, giving himself a second to breathe, and then says “okay, more.”

Bressie hesitates for a moment, but then presses forward.

It takes what seems like ages until Bressie is flush inside him, and once he manages, Louis is panting and sweaty. Bressie has one hand on his jaw, cradling him gently, murmuring soft words that Louis can’t make out against his neck, his mouth.

“Tell me,” Bressie says. “Not gonna move until you’re ready.”

Louis nods, feeling overwhelmed and trying to relax.

“Move,” he says eventually, sure he can’t wait anymore.

Bressie is slow, methodical, building a rhythm that Louis can rise to, hitching his hips up around Bressie’s, rolling slowly together as he starts to unravel. Bressie’s hands are solid and heavy on his hips, lifting him and pressing him and keeping him from floating up to the ceiling, which feels like a real possibility at the moment.

His hips start to go erratic eventually, though, and he reaches to wrap a hand around Louis’ cock, red and slick with wet. “Gonna come,” Bressie whispers. “You first.”

It only takes a few more thrusts, timed to match the twist of Bressie’s wrists, and then Louis’ back arches and he jolts nearly off the mattress, coming so sharply it hits halfway up his chest, stealing his breath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs to himself. “Oh my God, _fuck_ ,” and Bressie is still fucking into him, and his cock is so big in the tight clench of Louis’ arse, and he’s big over him and strong and he could hold Louis down with a single hand if he wanted, and he’s screwing up his face and panting because of _Louis_ , and it’s all too much right up until the instant Bressie comes.

Louis has to shut his eyes after that.

Eventually, Bressie pulls out very slowly, rolling over and tossing the condom towards the bin. “C’mere,” he says breathlessly, pulling Louis into a tight ball against his chest. “Jesus.”

“Messy,” Louis apologizes, because his come is smearing along Bressie’s flank as he cuddles in closer, but Bressie doesn’t move, just holds him there firmly.

“That was…” Bressie starts.

“If you say ‘a bad idea’ I swear to God I will smother you,” Louis says weakly, and Bressie laughs.

“Was gonna go with ‘really fuckin’ good,’ if that works for you,” he says.

“Hm,” Louis says, rubbing his nose against the crease of Bressie’s armpit. He smells sweaty and warm and it makes Louis’ stomach flip. “Suppose I’ll take it.”

They lie there for a while, breathing in, Louis’ heartbeat steadfastly refusing to settle.

“So I think I have to quit,” Bressie says softly after several long moments. Louis frowns, and sits up.

“What?” he asks. “Why?”

“Pretty sure it’s a conflict of interest if I’m head over arse for you,” Bressie admits. “And -- and Lou, you scared the _fuck_ out of me today. When everyone was around you, and I couldn’t get to you, and… I don’t think I can do that. You need someone who’s an actual professional, and I don’t want to have a heart attack because I haven’t taken care of you properly.”

“You take care of me fine,” Louis assures him, leaning down to press their noses together. “What d’you call what that just was, hm?”

“If you mean you getting your arse fucked, then technically you can’t pay me for that,” Bressie says. “Against the law.”

“Fuck,” Louis says, flopping beside him. “Alright. So you want to quit.”

“I want… lots of things,” Bressie says carefully. “And I don’t think I can have them if I’m your bodyguard.”

“But you won’t go, will you?” Louis asks, biting his lip. “Not -- right away, at least, right? You can still stay for a bit. Right?”

“Anything you want, boss,” Bressie says, pressing a kiss against Louis’ matted hair. “Anything you want.”

And maybe Louis is silly for it, but God help him, he believes it.


End file.
